Love has been put on hold. I am able to function normal when sobriety has been swept away in a turbulence of fast acting chemicals. On a night spent alone I bask in creativity brought on by a small blue pill that was found months earlier in the backseat of my recently wrecked car. I had been putting it on hold for I was not quite sure what it was. Twenty minutes after the intake my suspicions of it being a valium were correct. I am at the start of another binge. The time has once again come to dwell in the past for the future is looking bleak and I haven’t the courage or the will to show face, move forward, and wish farewell. I know that depression is nothing more than self-pity, but this is my specialty. My number one talent. I don’t want to go back to school this fall semester but my conscious is getting the best of me. I am feeling too much like a slacker. Something has been holding me back for the past four years to do what I dream of doing and it comes as no surprise when I realize it was me the whole time. 1998 has been horrible so far and in spite of all that has happened, I have been reluctant to write. Last summer was beautiful. It was filled with life-changing experiences and long-needed inspiration. A year later I am back at the beginning with nothing but memories left to burden my spirit with nostalgia set deep in my heart. It is too much of an understatement to say that I have had a run of bad luck in the past four months. Hate occupies my thoughts and faith in an unseen God is forced. My best friend said I must be doing something right. She is who keeps me in line with grace but that which can offer strength has backfired into weakness.
July 26, 1998